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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411481">The Parcels of Tannyhill</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomebodyNobody/pseuds/HomebodyNobody'>HomebodyNobody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outer Banks (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Compilation, Drabbles, F/M, Short</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:15:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomebodyNobody/pseuds/HomebodyNobody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble prompts from tumblr posted here</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera, JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Parcel One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>74)  Girls can’t drive, plain and simple <br/>95)  I never liked it, I lied</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>asked by <a href="https://largedenominationsplease.tumblr.com/">largedenominationsplease</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After they get the gold money, JJ blows more than is legally advisable on the dumbest souped-up sports car Kiara has ever seen. She can’t decide if she hates him more for buying it or herself for wanting it. One morning, she comes to the Chateau to see the boys standing in the driveway, admiring the stupid thing like it’s the first time instead of the sixty-seventh, and she snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake,” she cries, “It’s a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>car</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What is goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> about a fucking car?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ looks offended, whether falsely so or otherwise, she doesn’t bother to try and tell. “Just because you can’t drive --” he starts, and she physically reels back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. John B’s mouth drops open, looking between his friends like he can’t believe that JJ has actually said what he’s just said. Pope hides a snicker in his fist and takes a step toward the house, physically removing himself from the situation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?” Kiara exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest. JJ’s eyes drop to what the motion does to her tits and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> looks back up, licking his lips and swallowing before he speaks again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just --” he stammers, “Kie, I thought you </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> the car.” She does like the car. It’s a gorgeous fucking car. But listening to John B and JJ recite the engine stats over and over again is making her crazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never liked it, I lied.” Kiara lies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John B has to step to its defense. “Listen, Kie,” he pleads. “Just drive it, you’ll see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ squawks in protest, his head whipping around to look at John B. “Yeah, um, no,” he protests, laying protective hands on the top of the car. “She is not driving my baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh there is so much to unpack there,” Pope whispers under his breath. John B snickers, and JJ shoots him a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offense,” JJ says in Kiara’s direction -- she has, of course, taken </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span> offense, “But girls can’t drive, plain and simple.” He looks to the other two boys for back up, but John B looks mildly stunned, and Pope shakes his head, a wide grin on his face, neither of them willing to get in the middle of this fight. At their lack of support, JJ’s confidence in his previous statement starts to falter, and the confident, mischievous expression melts from his face. “I mean --” he shifts his weight and clears his throat. “It’s just that --” His eyes dart to Kiara, whose face is practically made of stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on,” she says, arms still crossed, hip tilted to the side. She’s done her best as a feminist with three male best friends to educate them on sexism, male privilege, and the like, but they were born and raised in a rural, traditional community. There’s still a lot of ideas they have yet to unlearn. Moments like these, while rare, still happen. Does she get a small amount of satisfaction from the way JJ has suddenly turned the color of printer paper? Well. Maybe a little bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” JJ says slowly, taking his hand off the car. “I feel as though I’ve made a mistake of some kind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara puts her palm out flat and beckons with her fingers. “Keys,” she says. “Now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t --” JJ stammers. “I thought you didn’t --” he looks at Pope, desperate for help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pope has exactly 0 chance of helping his drowning friend. “Give her the keys, dude,” he says, exerting an unsuccessful attempt to mask his wicked delight in watching this situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, JJ draws them from his pocket and tosses them to Kiara over the top of the car. She marches around to the driver’s side, getting up in JJ’s face. He hopes she doesn’t notice the way his eyes flick to her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in,” she says. She smells like cocoa butter and ginger from the kitchen, and his head is spinning with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” It’s less confusion as to what she means and more the shock of her sudden proximity and its detrimental effects on his ability to process information. She’s standing so close her chest is grazing his, and all of his mental effort is going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> being a complete asshole by maintaining eye contact rather than looking down her shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get. In,” she repeats, fucking around by about not a single percent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ’s mouth is suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> dry, and he scrambles away to the passenger side door so he doesn’t do something stupid like </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> her in front of Pope and John B. She looks at them as JJ ducks into the car, her eyebrows raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coming?” she asks. They scramble for the backseat, partially to avoid any conflict that may come from their refusal, but mostly to watch JJ’s face as Kiara drives his brand-new, stupidly fancy car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara tosses the keys in the air and then catches them again, a devious grin spreading across her face. “Girls can’t drive, huh?” she whispers to herself. “We’ll see about that.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Parcel Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>8) 'the floor is lava'</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>asked by anonymous</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The game started as the usual childhood playground pastime. Every kid knows ‘the floor is lava,’ and nobody wants to be the lava monster confined to the woodchips, jumping with arms outstretched to try and tag one of your friends and get back in the game. Most kids outgrow it by middle school, and look back on it with joy and nostalgia, and maybe daydream about what it might be to play it with their own children. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pogues, however, are not most kids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For years, JJ was the undisputed champ. He was fast and nimble, able to scale playground equipment like some sort of spider monkey, and sneaky enough to get Kiara even when she sat at the top of the slide with a view of the entire park. Then Pope was the first to hit his growth spurt, and his unfair wingspan led the group to believe that it might be time to move the game away from playground equipment built for those five feet and under. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, they changed the rules. If the phrase ‘the floor is lava’ is uttered within your hearing -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>even if it was not said by another player </span>
  </em>
  <span>-- you must find a way to remove both your feet from the floor as quickly as possible. Setting, function, and audience notwithstanding. Whoever is last to get both feet off the ground must wear a bandana somewhere on their person until the completion of the next round. It used to be more, but as they grew up, abject humiliation became slightly less hilarious, and so it became just the one -- a symbol of shame immediately recognizable to those in the know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, it became a nearly permanent staple of John B’s outfits. He had always been the worst at it and had certainly not improved with age. Then came Kiara’s kook year, and with it, the death of the game. John B, either absurdly loyal or just unhealthily attached, kept the bandana, and, supposedly, they all moved on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But one day, after Kiara’s return but before they discovered a shipwreck that ruined just as many lives as one hundreds of years ago, the game begins again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara is reclining in the captain’s chair of the HMS Pogue, one leg tucked under her and the other bent, her foot propped on the wheel as she paints her toenails a soft lavender. Pope is leaning on his elbow by the engine, reading Vonnegut, JJ is half-asleep with his cap pulled over his eyes, and John B is leaned over a knotted fishing line, his tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. The old bandana, now tattered and dishwater-gray, is still knotted around his neck. The sight of it swinging slightly as John B picks at the fishing line reminds her of its original purpose, and she gets an idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, JJ,” she says, and he picks his head up slightly, lifting the bill of his cap to look her in the eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grins. “The floor is lava.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reactions are </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Without a second thought, JJ digs in his pocket, tosses his phone across the deck, and rolls into the water. Pope drops his book and scrambles on top of the propellor, perching like fucking gollum. John B doesn’t even look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara throws her head back, laughing, and JJ takes a mouthful of water and spouts it into John B’s face. John B straightens, abruptly jerked back into the world, and casts confused looks over his friends. “What --” he starts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lose,” Kiara sings, and John B looks down at his feet, firmly planted on the deck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Parcel Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>43) take off your shirt <br/>53) pick up lines only work when I'm drunk</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>asked by anon</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>JJ takes a drag off his beer and drops his head against the tree he’s been leaning on for the past half an hour. The kegger was fun, until Jeremy Gabriels showed up and Kie realized that her eighth-grade crush had been sending her eyes all night. All she had to do was stand and head for the dance circle, and he’d sidled up with his hand on the small of her back. Kie normally threatened to remove body parts of the men who touched her without her permission, but she’d turned, and smiled, and looped her arms around Jeremy’s neck. That was about the moment JJ decided he was done for the night. </p><p>Now, he’s standing in the shadows, watching Kie dance with stupid fucking Jeremy, and the jealousy in his chest is a familiar ache. He’d asked her out, once. A million years ago, when they were still just kids. Did it right, with flowers and anything. She’d taken them, thanked him for being such a good friend, and in so doing, politely locked the door that led to them being anything other than best friends. Still, after all these years, he burns for her. It’s stupid and childish and so fucking helpless, but the reason he’s never gotten involved with anyone else, all the same. There have been hookups, sure. Flings with tourons and rebellious kook girls, but nothing, nothing, like the way he feels about Kiara.  </p><p>He doesn’t plan on doing anything about it until he watches Kiara stumble as Jeremy leads her away from the dance circle and toward the trees. Kie doesn’t drink too much. She knows her limits, and is always sure that she maintains control. So when she leans back toward the fire and Jeremy tugs on her arm instead of letting her go, JJ’s moving. </p><p>“No, no listen,” Kie insists, and the slur in her words is difficult to hear. He doesn’t know if Jeremy’s slipped her something or if she’s gone a little too hard to try and impress him. Either way, the grip Jeremy has on her arm clouds the edges of his vision. “I can’t -- I’m not supposed to go off by myself,” she says. “I’s the rules.” The rules. Big John made them up, back when Kiara joined their ragtag little gang, roundabout the sixth grade. No pogue on pogue macking. That was one of the rules then, too. </p><p>“It’ll be fine,” Jeremy says, and the grin on his face makes JJ feel physically sick. He’s close enough now, and he taps Jeremy on the shoulder. The guy turns, but doesn’t have any time to react before JJ’s fist is crashing across his face. </p><p>Jeremy drops like a fucking stone, the wimp. </p><p>“Ha!” Kie shouts, almost losing her balance as she leans over to spit the word in Jeremy’s face. Her feet  jog up and down in the sand as she does a stupid little dance. “Asshole!!” </p><p>JJ catches her shoulder and pulls her upright. “You okay?” he asks. </p><p>She jerks out of his grip. “I had it handled,” she grumps, sticking her lower lip out. JJ can’t help but laugh. </p><p>“Sure you did,” he allows. </p><p>“Nothin’ woulda --” she burps, and sways, and her brown eyes are glazed over and starry. “Nothin’ woulda happened.” </p><p>“I know, Kie,” he says, and reaches out again, his hand hovering just over her arm, there to catch her if she needs it. </p><p>“I’m a badass!” she insists, and goes to punch him in the shoulder. Her fists lands, but she overbalances and nearly falls into his chest. He catches her by both arms and stands her up straight. </p><p>“Yeah, you are,” he says kindly. He’s not usually the more sober of the two of them, and is suddenly grateful for all the nights she’s spent taking care of him. “You wanna go back to the party?” he asks. She closes her eyes and rocks back on her heels, and he has to brace his weight to catch her. “Oh, no no no!” he mutters, and when she rebalances, she actually does faceplant against his shoulder. </p><p>“Thanks for hittin’ ‘im, tho,” she mumbles, her face smushed against his body. “Tha’ was priddy cool of you.” Awkwardly, he pats her back with one hand, the other arm around her waist, holding her up. His stomach flips with her heat and proximity. He’s touchy with all his friends, but not Kie. He can’t handle it, knowing what it might feel like if things had gone differently all those years ago. </p><p>“You’re welcome,” he says, and she giggles in a very un-Kie-like manner. “Fuck,” he mutters, “how much did you drink?” She leans away from him, but he keeps an arm around her, just to make sure she doesn’t fall over -- or get close to falling over -- again. </p><p>Grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes, Kiara screws up her face like a little kid. “Last one was probably a mistake,” she admits. “Shouldn -- shouldna done that.” </p><p> </p><p>“So,” he starts, and she hums, and nuzzles her face into his neck, and he bites his lip, closes his eyes, and begs the universe for patience. “Um --” </p><p>“I’m cold,” she whines, and brings her arms up around his waist, tucking herself against him. </p><p>“Fuck, shit, goddamnit --” he mutters under his breath, Kie giggles again. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” </p><p>He manages to get her back up the beach to the Twinkie, and she collapses in the back like a ragdoll. Handing her a bottle of water, he tells her to drink all of it, and then straps himself into the driver’s seat. He has to keep glancing over his shoulder as he drives back to the Chateau to make sure she doesn’t pass out or anything. She just keeps looking at him with a stupid, dopey smile, and, at one point, gives him a stupid two-finger salute. </p><p>Getting her up the steps and through both doors is a challenge, but eventually he gets her into the spare bedroom, and digs out a clean t-shirt and boxers from the duffel he’s been living out of. “Alright, Kie,” he says. “Pyjamas.”</p><p>She’s laying in the bed that has essentially become his over the past few months, her hair spread across the pillow, crop top ridden up to expose her tanned, toned stomach, the sharp crest of her hipbones. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of her spread out in the moonlight. She’s smiling, liquid and lazy, and the only thing he wants is to fall over her, take her body in his hands, and kiss her until they both dissolve into stars. </p><p>“Lay down with me,” she says, reaching out with grabby hands. He chokes a little bit on his own spit, and just holds out the clothes a little farther. The slur in her voice is gone. She’d either sobered up in the van, or was acting more drunk at the beach than she really was. </p><p>“Kie, just take the clothes,” he says, hating how cracked and broken his own voice sounds. Her arms drop to the comforter. </p><p>“Buzzkill,” she mutters, and then, louder, “Make me.” Blood rushes into his face, and, despite his better judgment, he kneels on the bed. She sits up, a self-satisfied grin on her face, and JJ holds his breath, caught in a decision. She’s challenging him. Making this into a game. But he knows that door is locked. He’s tried it. She won’t do anything to shatter their friendship. She expects him to fall for the charade, to fall right into her trap, so she can embarrass him. He’ll play her game. But he’ll win. </p><p>“Take off your shirt,” he says, his voice dropping, the gravelly tone giving him away. Her eyes darken, and her fingers lift to brush the hem of her shirt. His stomach lifts and flips, but falls when he smells the alcohol on her breath. She’s only doing this because she’s drunk. <br/>“C’mon, JJ” she says, her voice thick and low and sultry. His name in that tone, from her mouth -- it almost hurts to hear, knowing she doesn’t mean it. “Pick up lines only work on me when I’m drunk.” </p><p>“I thought you were drunk,” JJ answers, the words falling out of his mouth. Then, he kicks himself. </p><p>“Oh shit,” Kiara says, a grin taking over her face. Before he can say anything else, she’s pulling her shirt over her head. “I guess I am.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Parcel Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>149) 'we started with one. now we have seven. you have no chill.'</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>asked by anon</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>JJ has addiction in his blood. There’s no question about it. He drinks and he smokes weed, and that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He doesn’t fuck with anything harder, and he makes sure he watches his intake, so he doesn’t turn into his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squishmallows, though. Didn’t see that one coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started as a Valentine’s day present for Kiara. They were seventeen, and just on the edge of something real, and he wanted to ask her to be his, for real. Do it right, with flowers and a meal and a present. And okay, the meal was at the Pelican Diner, the flowers were from his neighbor’s ditch, and the present was a stupid stuffed animal from Walgreens, but like -- he was seventeen, and broke as shit. He was working with what he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, when she got in the car and saw the enormous blue elephant in the passenger seat, and, when his face fell, had to hurriedly assure him that she did, in fact, think it was cute. Then, she wouldn’t take it home with her, and it ended up living mostly in his room. Later that year, for her birthday, he got her another one. She liked it a little better -- it was a shark -- but it still ended up on his bed, rather than hers. A month later, she got </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> one (the dragon), and it became clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The squishmallows were for JJ all along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was okay, for a while. They had three giant stuffed animals they had to clear out of the way every time they wanted to have sex, but it was a cute, funny moment every time, and they moved on. She gets him the mermaid cat as a prank (he loves it), and then he gets her the avocado after a particularly bad day. (It’s the only one she actually likes, and often hugs it when she’s high.) Then, they got popular on the internet, and that just about spelled their doom. Line after line came out, and when JJ walks through the door with an enormous Baby Yoda, Kie has to call him on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe,” she says, “Another one?” She’s laying on the couch in their apartment, Tessy curled up under chin, doing her best to read her phone over the lump of purring black cat. (Tessy is short for TSV -- the screaming void.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love Baby Yoda,” JJ refutes, placing it gently on the counter and dropping the rest of the groceries on the floor. Tessy launches herself off of Kiara to investigate. Sighing, Kie sits up and does her best to brush the black cat hair off her chest. (She is largely unsuccessful.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do love Baby Yoda,” she says, crossing the living room to loop her arms around JJ’s neck, he grins, the gesture unconscious as she settles into his arms. “And I love you, babe --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” he says cheerfully, leaning in to give her a small kiss, satisfied with his Excellent Gift Acquisition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She draws back, biting her lip, and her eyes dart to the enormous green plushie before very carefully phrasing what she says next. “But do you think -- it maybe might be time to chill?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ looks falsely offended that tells Kiara there’s a little bit of real offense underneath, too. “I am chill,” he protests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey,” she starts, keeping her voice even. “We started with one, now we have seven. You have no chill.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You date me voluntarily,” JJ points out, after scrambling for a moment. She tosses her head back on a laugh, and he grins. It’s his favorite sight.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I do,” she says, and kisses him, long and slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love the squishmallows,” he says as she pulls away, and she chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she says, patient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the squishmallows,” he pushes, leaning in close. She shakes her head, but she’s smiling into the kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only the avocado,” she says, and he sighs in false frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’ll take it.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Parcel Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>54) Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?   62) I warned you. He warned you. Your fucking mom warned you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oops I got carried away </p><p>asked by <a href="https://superhotrichhippiechick.tumblr.com/">superhotrichhippiechick</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dating Daniel Ryder was a bad idea. Kiara knew that. But he was tall, blond, blue-eyed, and deeply emotionally unavailable, and Kie is, unfortunately, the kind of girl with a type. Pope had already confronted her about the similarities between Danny and a certain friend of theirs, so when she misses her period, she knows she can’t call the boys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the summer of gold, Sarah became somewhat of a permanent fixture in their little crew, and, reluctantly, old grudges were forgiven, and a new, better friendship formed. Kiara wasn’t sure how to approach that relationship, at first. Being friends with girls was so much different than what she had grown up with, gotten so used to over the years. It’s a different kind of bond. All the same, she doesn’t want to go to Walgreens by herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they wait for the results, sitting on Kiara’s bathroom floor, Sarah knocks her foot against Kiara’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay,” she says, and Kiara just shrugs, too disconnected from reality to really get any thought past the swirling storm of panic that predominates her thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another minute passes, and the timer rings on Sarah’s phone. Kiara lunges toward the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The test is negative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both girls let out a collective sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kiara lets out, dropping back to the floor, her back sliding down the wall. Sarah leans over and drops her forehead against her friend’s knee, laughing, because she doesn’t really know what else to do. She wouldn’t have known what to say, if something else had happened. “I’m not telling Danny.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah lifts her head, her chin resting on Kiara’s knee instead. “Why not?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara shrugs again. “He’ll freak and run.” She shakes her head. “I should have listened to JJ.” He hadn’t liked Danny from the jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah scrunches up her nose and wraps her arms around Kie’s leg. “I mean, he warned you,” she admits, and then; “I also warned you. I mean hell, your fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> warned you.” She laughs a little bit, and Kiara picks up the leg she’s leaning on and nudges her in the stomach with her foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not helping,” she points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah’s head falls to the side, watching her friend’s face, studying the gears turning behind deep, intelligent brown eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna tell JJ?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara lands squarely back in reality with a jerk. “Why the fuck would I do that?” she asks, and Sarah almost laughs. She knows how JJ feels about Kiara. Everyone does, except for Kiara. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah shrugs, delighting just the smallest bit in the way the machine in Kie’s head seems to be spitting smoke trying to understand what Sarah has just said. There’s no more argument, though, because the door to Kiara’s room bursts open, announcing the arrival of John B and JJ, who, of course, neglected to text about coming over to pick the both of them up. After everything, Kie’s parents have been infinitely kinder to all of the boys, and the Carrera house has started to feel like communal territory, equitable to the Heywards but not quite on par with the Chateau. Although, nowhere will ever feel like home to any of them quite like the Chateau does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah scrambles up from the floor, and goes back into Kie’s room to stall. Kiara stands and sweeps the pregnancy test in the trash, washing her hands before following Sarah into the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you both doing in the bathroom?” John B asks, plastered to Sarah’s back, his arms around her shoulders. Kiara looks, wild-eyed, to her friend, and Sarah makes up a lie about makeup. John B looks satisfied, but JJ doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here, anyway?” Kie asks, “I thought it was common practice to call before you start bursting into people’s houses.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ pokes her in the side with a good-natured grin, and masks his confusion poorly when she swats at his hand. “There was no bursting,” he protests, “your mom let us in.” She still doesn’t smile or laugh, and he relents, eyeing her all the same. She’s still upset and a little shaken, and Kiara has never been very good at covering up her feelings. He wants to ask her what’s up, but he knows that won’t yield anything, not with John B and Sarah there, too. Kiara already isn’t good at vulnerability, much less in group settings. It takes one-on-one time and usually a good deal of alcohol before she lets anything remotely private slip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John B saves the day. “We came to get you guys,” he explains, “There’s a killer swell at Rixon’s right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara lights up, delighted by the idea of a long afternoon of surfing to get her mind off the close call and the conversation she’s goind to have to have with Danny, and ducks into her walk-in closet to change. Dimly, she hears JJ say something about needing the bathroom through the door, and her heart climbs up into her throat as she ties the halter of her bikini behind her neck, dizzy and praying to whatever might be up there that he doesn’t look in the trash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They aren’t listening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both come back into the room at the same time, JJ drying his hands on his t-shirt (heathen), and Kiara pulling on a loose button-up to serve as a cover-up. JJ, bless him, never does know how or when to keep his mouth shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiara freezes, and Sarah takes a deep, sharp inhale. Still holding her, John B goes ghost-white, his entire body going stiff. JJ realizes his mistake almost immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um --” he says, eyes darting between the two girls, and, resigned, Kiara takes the fall, to save the healthy relationship from an entirely unnecessary fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s mine,” she says, and John B relaxes, just slightly. JJ doesn’t. Not until she says; “false alarm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence hangs awkward and heavy until Sarah says something about warming up the van (It’s May), and drags John B out of the room. JJ doesn’t say anything, and Kiara doesn’t know why she’s waiting for him to. He stares at the floor, and she twists the hem of her shirt around her index finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he does speak, she’s surprised at his question. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no big deal,” she reassures him, not sure she believes it, herself. “It was negative, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought you were pregnant, Kie,” he says, his voice breaking on the word. She flinches. “That’s a pretty big fucking deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not,” she insists, stubbornly determined not to understand why he’s so caught up in this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you tell Danny?” he asks, and she wants nothing more than to run far, far away from this conversation. She didn’t expect JJ to care this much, and possible reasons tumblr and crash together in her exhausted, anxiety-hangover of a mind. She shakes her head, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, and his mouth turns into a thin, flat line, his hand curling into a fist and tapping lightly against the bedpost. “Why not?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you care so much?” she shoots back, and he winces, the words like a blow. She knows why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he says. “If it was me --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s not you,” she interrupts, shocked to feel tears forming, hard and crystalline, in the bottom of her throat. “So it doesn’t matter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And whose fault is that?” he responds immediately. The words echo like a whip cracked through the room, and finally, their eyes meet, furious and burning, full of misunderstanding and jealousy and illusions of betrayed trust. “I warned you,” he goes on, the dam finally broken, “I told you he was bad news and you dated him anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re acting like you were even an option!” she snaps, and there’s the truth of it. She dated Danny because he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> JJ, because the one thing she really wanted, the one </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span> she really wanted -- she thought he was out of reach. Her voice is ragged and raw when honesty finally climbs and claws its way out of her throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I wanted you,” she cries. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t have</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, so don’t go trying to tell me how to live my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she looks up again, his face is so open and honest it almost hurts. Her chest heaves from the argument and the fear and all the other stress she’s carried around all day. She can’t handle this, not now, and her entire body screams at her to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>run</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she can’t, not when JJ is looking at her like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kie…” he sighs, and without words, the truth paints itself around the both of them, colors finally exploding across the blank, undefined space between them. He crosses the room in three quick steps, and he’s kissing her, holding her face, her hands curled on his chest. It’s an explosion of sorts, an ending and a beginning all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>JJ speaks softly when he pulls away. “You could’ve had me,” he says, his thumb brushing away a tear that rolls down her cheek. “You can still have me.” She lifts a fist and lets it thump gently against his chest, letting out a watery laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> --” she starts, but he smiles, and kisses her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think I had to,” he explains, and she bumps her forehead against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” she says, and he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your idiot,” he says. And then, softer; “if you want me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kisses him once more, and there’s still John B and Sarah downstairs, still Danny to deal with, still a thousand other things that might get in their way, but this moment -- this moment is all theirs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I want you.” </span>
</p>
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